


Outsider

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Greg's wife is a cheating meanie, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's wife cheated on him, he knows that much. What about the figure lurking in the shadows?</p>
<p>This entire fic is inspired by the amazing fanvideo by DuchessCloverly on tumblr and youtube.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outsider

It was inevitable. Despite the many protestations of Sherlock, Greg Lestrade wasn't an idiot. Well, most of the time he wasn't. Any fool could see it was bound to happen, that the late nights, the missed dinners, the arguments. Of course Caroline was sleeping around. Who wouldn't? 

"You're not going to leave me." She protested forcefully as they argued in the hall.

The weary detective inspector ran his hands over his face. "Yes, I am." Greg insisted, more out of the shred of self respect that lay battered on the carpet than anything else. "You're just going to have to face it." 

Caroline stared back at him, folding her arms, a defeated look crossing her face. "Fine, leave. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." She hissed, glaring at Greg's retreating back. 

The silver haired man picked up his coat and headed straight out into the December night, ignoring the frosty chill that crept along his every nerve, sinking into every orifice. Greg strode through the night, just another bitter, hurting man in a wounded city, a battlefield. People never feel as lonely as they do surrounded by strangers. There was always somewhere he could turn, he mused, regretfully. 

Greg walked across the town, hands shoved in his pockets and hunched shoulders. He shook his head, feeling oddly reminiscent of a kicked puppy as he let himself into the Diogenes, walking into the Stranger's Room and waiting. 

True to form, Mycroft Holmes appeared in the doorway soon after, a stoic look on his face that only imparted slight worry. "Gregory, I trust the inevitable has happened?" He greeted, turning to a table and pouring two glasses of a honey coloured scotch. He handed one to the grey haired man, and drank. 

Greg pinched his nose and looked up at the man he had so often revered, who despite his idiosyncrasies, had managed to entrance him. Perhaps it was because of them. "I just don't know what to do." He muttered quietly, hoping for some semblance of comfort, a modicum of advice. Greg relaxed into a chair and sipped his drink, eyes cast upwards hopefully.

The elder Holmes met Greg's eyes, the brown depths locking with the grey, ice filled pools that reflected a life of suffering and loss. "Caring is not an advantage, Gregory." Mycroft turned away from him, the sentiment burdening his shoulders. 

The Detective Inspector blinked, surprised, expecting something warmer... Well, it was Mycroft. He simply nodded, taking the sentiment on board. It was true, wasn't it? It had worked for Mycroft. Hadn't it?


End file.
